You Asked For It: the Not-So-Prompts
by PinkElephant5
Summary: Assorted small stories born from Tumblr prompts, though not always written very promptly. STORY 2: THE BET. "Abraham, put down the carrots. And the tweezers. And the...what *is* that?"
1. Brave Boys

**A/N: After a long absence, I have rediscovered Tumblr. The internet black hole timesuck grows ever stronger! Whee!**

 **This story is for vivid-escapist, who submitted a prompt where Henry is the only one who can bring a traumatized child out of his/her shell. Also included: "general Henry angst emo Henry angst angst angst." :) I hope this is fits the bill!**

* * *

 **BRAVE BOYS**

The boy appeared to be about six years old, but Jo ran out of details shortly after that one. He was African-American, he had short twists in his hair, and he wore jeans and a Captain America t-shirt. The EMTs reported that he was unharmed, at least physically. He looked healthy and clean; he appeared to come from a caring home.

Jo knew appearances could be deceiving, but for now they would have to do. It was likely that the boy was the only witness to his parents' murder, and for the past three hours, ever since she had found him hiding between parked cars near the crime scene, he had not spoken. Not a single word. Until that changed, appearances were all she had to go on.

Now he was here in the Eleventh Precinct, sitting in a chair in the waiting area. The social worker on call sat next to him at a non-threatening distance and occasionally spoke in low, soothing tones and tried again to offer him a bottle of apple juice, but he showed no reaction. He only stared straight ahead at a wall and a dog-eared poster with seat belt-themed clip art and the admonishment, "Click It or Ticket!" There was no sign that the boy was truly seeing or hearing anything.

They had each taken a turn trying to get through to him: Jo, the uniforms at the scene, the EMT's who checked him out, the social worker. He hadn't so much as looked at any of them. His state of shock was so deep, Jo wasn't sure he was even aware of their presence.

Currently, Hanson was trying his best to coax the boy back to reality. He sat next to him and held up a framed picture for him to see. The detective's face was gentle, as kind as Jo had ever seen it, though his eyes were sad. They sat too far away for her to hear what Hanson was saying, but the boy wasn't responding. He continued to stare at "Click It or Ticket!" without acknowledging Hanson or his photo.

Finally Hanson smiled briefly, stood up, and walked back to his desk. He sighed in both defeat and sympathy as he sank into the chair, placing the photo of his family back in its usual place. "Poor kid. Imagine watching both your parents get killed. I showed him the boys and asked if he'd be more comfortable if there were a few other kids around, but nothing. Wherever he is, he's in deep and he's not coming out."

Jo sighed a little too. "Part of me wishes we could just leave him there a while longer."

Hanson knew as well as she did that they couldn't. "No luck yet identifying the victims?"

She shook her head grimly. "No IDs on the bodies, no missing persons hits, no fingerprints on file. We need _something_ from this kid—even just his name."

"We don't even know for sure that those were his parents," Hanson added.

Jo looked back at the boy, at the vacant stare that was shielding him from an unthinkable reality, and she had no doubt. "They were."

The elevator dinged, and a moment later Henry appeared. He had left the crime scene before she'd discovered the boy, but his muted mood told her he was up-to-date on the situation regarding the two bodies in his morgue.

Jo gave him a small smile of acknowledgement. "What can you tell us?"

"Not their names, unfortunately," Henry said apologetically. "I _can_ tell you that the victims were tourists, probably from the Midwest. Chicago, perhaps?"

Jo would ask him later how he knew that. For now, it only mattered that he was virtually always right. She turned to Hanson. "Let's start with the kid-friendly hotels within walking distance of the scene, then widen the search radius as needed. See if anyone has guests matching the victims' description."

"You got it." Hanson nodded and got right to work. The list of hotels to call would be long, but he was grateful for something productive he could do to help the boy.

Jo turned back to find Henry looking across the room.

"He still hasn't spoken?"

She shook her head. "Not a word. If we can find his name another way, maybe he won't have to. Not yet, anyway."

"The hotel search could take hours." Henry thought for a moment before asking, "Do you mind if I speak with him?"

Jo shrugged. "Sure, but don't get your hopes up. And Henry—" she caught his arm lightly to halt him, and he turned to meet her eyes at the touch. "Be careful. You know what he's seen."

He nodded solemnly. "Of course." Henry had already completed both autopsies; he knew exactly how the man and woman had died. His heart ached a little to know that their son had witnessed it.

She nodded back and released his arm with an encouraging squeeze. He crossed the room and smiled gently as he approached the boy. "Hello, my name is Henry. I'm a doctor. Do you mind if I sit down?" He addressed the child but glanced at the social worker, who nodded her permission. Not surprisingly, the boy said nothing.

Henry took that as a "please do" and sat facing forward as well, staring at the same fading seat belt poster. For several moments, he shared the boy's silent vigil until at length, he spoke. "I'm guessing that people have told you it's okay, or that you're okay." He turned his head to the boy and added, "But that's not true, is it? Nothing is okay." Henry thought he saw a slight twitch in the young countenance before he continued. "You remind me of another boy I know. He lost his parents, too. He was only a baby when it happened, much too young to remember like you do, but it was an awful time in the world. Many people were far from home and scared. Angry men took his family away, and he was left alone."

The boy still hadn't turned his head, but Henry saw the moment when his eyes came back to life with a fluttering blink.

Henry went on. "Do you know what happened to that little boy? A kind woman found him." His eyes flicked momentarily to Jo even as his thoughts turned with painful clarity to an image of Abigail with a babe in her arms. "She saved him. She kept him safe from the angry men, and he was never alone again." Henry swallowed thickly against the flood of memories. "He lost his old family and found a new one, and he was brave enough to love them both, even when it was scary."

 _And there had been much to fear,_ Henry realized. From parents who died to a parent who never died, but at the same time was constantly dying. How many boys could have accepted such a home life with as much grace and aplomb as his adopted son? "Abraham is the strongest boy I know," he confided to the boy next to him, "and I think you're very like him."

He fell back into a silence that rivaled his small companion's. He was on the cusp of losing himself in memories when he heard a hoarse little whisper.

"Jeremy."

Henry kept his voice low but used his eyes to signal Jo, who had been watching their interaction the entire time with interest. "Jeremy? Is that your name?"

The boy nodded and repeated it a little more strongly. "Jeremy Davis."

"Thank you, Jeremy. It's nice to meet you." Jo had paused on the edge of their space, as if she were approaching a bird that might startle and fly away. He nodded toward her. "My friend Jo and I want to help you. Is that okay?"

Jeremy hesitated a little, but then he gave a tiny nod and half-whispered, "Okay."

* * *

They didn't talk for long, only long enough to glean his parents' names and some possible next-of-kin to notify. That was enough for now. As the social worker escorted him out to his foster home for the night, Jeremy Davis held Jo's eyes, then Henry's, for a long moment as he passed. Henry answered with what he hoped was a strengthening smile. When the elevator doors closed, he turned to find Jo watching him thoughtfully.

"You were really good with him," she observed. "Amazing, actually."

"Thank you, Detective. I'm glad I could help in some small way. He has a long road ahead."

She nodded in agreement but wasn't distracted from the study of her partner. "You're always comfortable with kids, even babies."

He cocked his head a little. "And that surprises you?"

"It did a little, at first. But not anymore." She seemed to debate whether to say something, then decided to go ahead. "I hope you do have kids someday, Henry. You would make a great father."

He struggled for a moment to mask his emotions. He fought not to show the wonder and adoration he had felt at holding his infant son; the joy of raising a sweet, thoughtful boy; his pride in a young man's accomplishments as he grew; the friendship they shared as adults; the panic and denial he fought at the thought of losing him; and the love like nothing else he had felt in all his long life. More than anything else, fatherhood had forever changed him. Of all the secrets he wanted to share with his partner, that might be the most important. Someday, he would introduce her properly to his son.

For now, he only smiled and tried to appear merely hopeful. "Thank you, Jo. You don't know what that means to me."

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 **Thanks for reading! And thanks to vivid-escapist for the idea. If you have any prompts of your own, my Tumblr ask box is currently open. See my profile for more info. Like the title of this collection suggests, my responses may not always be that prompt (I'm not a fast writer), but if the idea jives with my style, I'll give it a try!**


	2. The Bet

**A/N: This was the product of a "you give me one line, I'll give you five more" prompt.**

 **Vivid-escapist really threw down the gauntlet and gets full writing credit for the first line. :)**

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"Abraham, put down the carrots. And the tweezers. And the...what _is_ that?"

Abe gave his father an incredulous look. "Henry, I know you've practically been under a rock for the last 30 years, but even you must know what this is."

Henry wasn't so sure about that. He tilted his head slightly. "Are you holding it right side up?"

"Stop stalling! When you gamble big at chess, sometimes you lose big at chess." Abe deposited the carrots, the tweezers, and the other thing in Henry's less-than-open arms and pointed to a nearby table, already prepared with a towel and an unopened jar of raspberry jam. "You'd better get ready. Jo will be here any second."

Henry was starting to look concerned. "I don't think this is a good idea, Abe. She's only just learned my secret. This is the time to soften the shock and help her adjust, not ask her to judge whether I can…" His sentence trailed off. Even to his son, his best friend, he was having trouble saying it out loud.

Abe had experienced no such trouble explaining their little bet when he'd called Jo earlier. For her part, she'd had no trouble agreeing to drop everything and come right over to judge his performance. Privately, Henry wasn't sure whether to be alarmed or a little turned on by that, even if the bet was completely ridiculous.

As if summoned by thoughts of her, Jo knocked on the door. Henry's hands were still full, so Abe let her in.

She sauntered over without hurry, took one of his carrots, and sat down next to Abe. Was it Henry's imagination, or did she look awfully satisfied with the way her evening was playing out?

Henry continued to stare at her, unsure of the appropriate niceties in this situation. He also continued to hold the tweezers, the second carrot, and the other thing. He took a breath as if to speak, but then froze with his mouth open. After a moment he closed it.

When he continued to look stymied, Jo took a bite of carrot out of the side of her mouth. After a few slow crunches she said, "Okay, old man. Show me what you got."

* * *

"Sorry, Abe," Jo said, looking down at Henry's creation, "but this judge has spoken. It's perfect."

Abe chuckled. "No, don't be sorry. He only did it because I beat him at chess and made him try. Everybody wins."

"What about me?" asked Henry, wiping melted ice and sticky jam residue from his hands onto the towel. "Do I win?"

Jo continued to look down at the tableau laid out on the table before them. "Oh yeah. You definitely win."

As stipulated by Abe's terms, Henry had created a 1/12 scale replica of he and Jo's latest murder scene in snowman form, using only raspberry jam, tweezers (the man had been speared with a harpoon), and a Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine. And of course, a baby carrot for a nose.

Abe joined them in gathering around the gradually vanishing snow-victim. "I gotta hand it to you, Henry. You really captured the, um, blood spatter."

"I did, didn't I?" Despite the unorthodox medium, Henry was pleased with his results. "Well, if it's worth doing, it's worth doing right."

Jo smirked. "This was so worth pausing Game of Thrones for." She looked from the grisly little scene to Henry and asked, "Are you sure you've never read Calvin and Hobbes?"

He furrowed his brow. "The philosophers?"

Jo grinned. "Kind of, yeah."

Abe gave the plastic crank on the back of Snoopy's doghouse an experimental turn. "Hey, you didn't even use all the ice. Anyone want a raspberry snow cone?"

He looked from Henry to Jo and back. No response. Never let it be said he couldn't read a customer.

"Whiskey it is."

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 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Also— if you, like Henry, have been living under a rock and aren't familiar with the Calvin and Hobbes style of snowmen, go and google it immediately. It's for your own good.**


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